


where dreams are sane, but reality strange.

by OptimisticLady



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Father Figures, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Other, Post-Doctor Strange (2016)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OptimisticLady/pseuds/OptimisticLady
Summary: Stella Fay considered herself to be an ordinary girl - just your regular, struggling Arts student graduate. Except her path takes a darker turn when her dreams become consistent nightmares, and she meets one Doctor Stephen Strange within them... Post-Doctor Strange, pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1... and maybe some post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 **No romance**





	1. Prologue: Hands

They were the most useful tools to ever exist.

They could do anything.

Sometimes, Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange would dream of his surgeon days, where his hands were whole and his wealth was great. He dreamt his hands were not covered in scars, a reminder of all the failed attempts to fix them; a reminder of his intense arrogance, and his desperate attempts to heal himself. The selfish nature that he was far too proud of.

He dreamt his hands were clean, and working properly without the aid of magic. How simple life had been back then, when his surgeon hands never shook. It came as a relief when he was able to learn magic and believe his hands into healing themselves. Even though he wasn't a surgeon anymore, he was still saving people. He was always protecting them at the Sanctum.

All through the power of his hands.

There were other occasions where his dreams would be of the more sensual nature to do with hands. Not necessarily with another human being, but just… feeling the world around him. The smoothness of the wood banister in the Sanctum, how the rain felt trickling down his slender fingers as he wandered New York every now and then, and that ever present spark every time he felt the magic flow through down to the very tips of his fingers. That was a feeling he would never want to give up.

And on very rare occasions, he would reach for another human and feel their soft skin against his own roughened palms. They were often faceless or have their back turned to him – nonetheless, it felt… soothing. Sometimes he would wish for that in reality but he had taken an oath to protect the world from within the Sanctum. Strange only let himself yearn for that warmth of a companion in his dreams, and never when awake.

Hands.

How they were so versatile and delicate.


	2. Chapter 1: Hangover Cure

All he knew right now was an intense pounding in his head and from that, Strange knew he did not want to open his eyes. If there was one thing he hadn't tried yet, it was using magic to cure a headache – although this was more of a hangover than anything. Perhaps now would not be the best time to even try that.

Groaning, Strange slowly opened his eyes and sat up. He was by the portals that led to other parts of the Earth, and there was no telling which one he had come through. How he managed to even get back through one of them was beyond him since the last thing he remembered was shooting down some tequila shots with a very intriguing stranger in–

He couldn't remember where.

Strange levitated himself to a standing position, the pounding in his head increasing. He looked down at his appearance to find himself a little bedraggled, but at least he knew the outfit he wore the previous night was… good. It was good. Not as extravagant as he used to go, but it was within the realms of smart-casual and that was fine by him. So if he got back here during the night, that means no _questionable_ activities occurred between him and whichever stranger he had attempted to hook up with.

He knew he shouldn't be doing any of this, but there was the odd occasion where the desires from his dreams couldn't help but spill out into the real world. Strange craved the touch of another person – he was human, still, remember. Despite the fact he had pledged himself to the spiritual and essentially a life of abstinence, he would still slip up. He was allowed to do that, right?

Besides, Strange was the only person in New York (along with Wong) protecting the city from dark beings from other dimensions. He deserved time off every now and again from his studies and his heroic nature sometimes. Even if it was not in the way he should have been doing so.

He began walking back along the corridor, intending on heading up to the next floor so he could go crash in his bed, but when he arrived at his room…

Wong was in his way, looking utterly unimpressed. Arms folded and everything.

Strange sighed, and gently pushed past him.

“And where were you last night?”

_Here goes the interrogation._

“Not here, clearly...” Strange huffed back, going to lie down in his bed, which was placed under the window. The room was of a modest size, since the Sanctum was large so were most of the rooms. Strange kept the décor simple, and had a majority of his personal possessions and clothing from his old apartment here with him now.

“Attachment to the material-”

“ _'Is detachment from the spiritual,'_ yeah, I know… You wouldn't understand even if I _tried_ to explain.”

“Try me.” Wong held the same stance in the doorway.

“It's _embarrassing._ ”

“It can't be any worse than when you first came to Kamar-Taj, can it?”

Strange gave Wong a _look_ , before eventually relenting. Delicately. “Well, Wong, I'm a human male. I have needs to be… fulfilled. You're lucky I haven't attempted this more frequently. I keep dreaming about hands, so...”

“Hmm. You swore an oath. You can't be selfish anymore.”

“Well it's not like I do it on a daily basis!” Strange cried out, before recollecting himself to be a little more calm. “Nothing happened anyway. There was too much drinking...”

Wong rolled his eyes. “I'm not surprised. Sleep then, but you'll have to pick everything up again tomorrow at a more intense pace.”

“I'm _well_ aware of that.” Strange stubbornly rolled over to signify that was the end of _that_ conversation.

The door closing told him that Wong had left, and he could attempt to sleep through this damn headache-slash-hangover type thing. This is probably the exact reason sorcerers well and truly locked themselves off from the modern world: to stop things like _this_ from happening.

Normally Strange was good with self restraint, but his most recent dream about hands had been too much to cope with internally. It was less about the objects and more about the human at this point. Being in the Sanctum for most of his time was beginning to get a little claustrophobic, considering Wong was the only person he really spoke to.

Obviously, they weren't always shut up in there – they had to do normal people things like get food, get some fresh air, and occasionally fight a bad guy in the Mirror Dimension on the streets of New York but that was the extent of it. Strange dedicated most of his time to learning about all the various weapons, traps, and trinkets that were in the Sanctum, when the world wasn't in immediate danger.

Oh, and trying to form some proper kind of friendship with the Cloak.

Don't get him started on the Cloak.

He wondered where it was for the time being – it had a tendency to just… float about the Sanctum. It would also come to him when he needed it though. A very reliable piece of clothing indeed. Even though it was more than that.

Strange fell into a deep sleep, thankful that it came quickly once Wong had left the room.

* * *

_Sometimes he ran, and sometimes he levitated. It really depended on whether or not he was wearing the Cloak. It was always more freeing to wear it in a dream, and Strange couldn't place his finger on why that was the case._

_As he gently flew through the streets of New York, Strange allowed his fingertips to brush up against the stone buildings, the glass windows – taking in everything he possibly could about his home all through touch. Odd how nerve damage had affected his subconscious this badly, even though he could still technically use his hands – just not in the way he was used to. It could feel like work, sometimes, keeping them willingly healed with magic._

_He eventually glided down to the middle of Times Square, which was completely empty inside his own head. It was peaceful, and he relished in it._

_As expected down in the middle of Times Square, was the human that he always found himself drawn to. Always, he wanted to hold their hand, the currently faceless being that haunted his dreams in the most peculiar manner. He landed, and slowly he started making his way towards them with his hand stretching out for theirs to take from behind._

_Just as he was centimetres away from holding that precious human, they turned around._

_Strange recoiled, just as she did._

_Her features were blurry, but he could make out that she was about three quarters of a foot shorter than him, and her hair was cut into a neat, dark bob._

“ _What the-” she was apparently shocked as him._

“ _I won't hurt you!”_

“ _Yeah, I figured, you're the weirdo that keeps holding my hand every other night!”_

_With those words she ran off, leaving Strange to be more confused than anything._

_Curiouser and curiouser…_

_Okay, so that meant she was real and not a figment of his imagination._

* * *

Strange woke up for the second time that day with the nice addition of his head no longer pounding. He sat up in bed, sweating ever so slightly and his hands trembling. He frowned down at them.

“Stop that...” he muttered, knowing that his anxiety behind his dream was the cause of this. Obviously he knew that telling his hands to _stop shaking from anxiety_ wouldn't work and that actually had to calm himself down, but Strange was not in the mood for trying.

He was more concerned about the woman in his dream.

Who was she?

Why was she there?

Strange smoothed back his hair and got out of bed, opting to head for the library, because Wong would be there and Wong usually had answers. If he didn't, he'd point Strange in the direction of the necessary books he needed.

“Ah. You're finally up. Tea?” Wong greeted him as he entered the library.

“No thanks...” Strange waved it off. “I was wondering, you know how there's a _Dark Dimension_ , is there a _Dream Dimension_?”

“What did you do _this_ time?”

Strange rolled his eyes. “ _Nothing._ I've been having weird dreams and it turns out that someone in them is an actual human and _not_ my imagination.”

“How were you able to tell?” Wong started to lead Strange through the library and towards a section the latter hadn't had a chance to visit yet.

“They – she – identified me as the 'weirdo that keeps holding her hand every other night.'”

The two men came to a stop at a corner, and Wong gave Strange an odd look.

“I dream about hands,” Strange explained quickly.

“Makes sense.” Wong pulled three heavy volumes off the shelf and handed them to his friend. “I suggest you start here. The Dream Dimension is ruled over by a being called Nightmare, so tread carefully if you decide to anything about your woman problem...”

Wong started to walk away, leaving Strange a little shocked.

“I do _not_ have a woman problem!”

The other man chuckled as he disappeared further into the depths of the library.

Strange sighed and made a retreat to his room. He didn't want Wong to come and make bad jokes at him for the rest of today, not when his predicament was a peculiar one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This has been bouncing around in my head for some time. I got highkey obsessed with Doctor Strange recently, and then I read a little more about the comics/the villains revolving around his character and thought... why the hell not?
> 
> Leave any feedback you like!
> 
> -OL.


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